THE SLIPPERS OF SOLITUDE
The spectacle is over tonight.
The curtain has been lowered,
the actors—friends, girlfriends—
are finally back home.
All the spectators have left.
The hall is clothed with darkness.
This long theatre of hypocrisy
keeps repeating from the past.
It’s late and I’ve to flee now
to my silent and quiet refuge.
Near the sofa, they’re waiting for
me, my slippers of solitude.
